The days after her return had been exhausting, physically and emotionally. Anne had told her story countless times and had given depositions until she had become weary of the sound of her own voice. Harmon Chase had been a bulwark of support against the tedium of red tape involved with building a case against Preston. Vicki, too, had been supportive, but the demands of her practice had called her back to Houston the previous week.
Registered under an assumed name and with federal officers guarding her door, Anne sat in the quiet hotel suite gazing out the window at the Washington Monument, its outline hazy through the dismal drizzle, and thinking about Spider. She recalled their last heated lovemaking with bittersweet longing. Three harried weeks had passed, but the memory was still vivid, still evoked
a quickening in her body. He'd meant to imprint her with his passion, and he'd succeeded.
Every night she went to her solitary, impersonal hotel bed and ached for his warmth next to her. Yes, he was a magnificent lover, but was sexual compatibility enough for a permanent relationship? No, she reminded herself, it wasn't. She remembered that Betsy Carmichael had come home after the flame had burned out with her Oregon dream man. They were simply too different. It had bothered him that Betsy had piles of money, and she hadn't been willing to give it up. In the end, he'd started drinking and their romance had ended.
Would Spider be any different? Was what they had something more stable? Or had it been a temporary fling born of her desperation and fear? She didn't know. But what she did know was that she needed time, and she needed to learn to be independent.
Yet when the lock rattled, for one illogical minute she hoped it was Spider coming to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to Houston with him. Her face fell as a smiling Harmon Chase strode into the room.
"It's official. Preston's been Indicted, and he's locked up tighter than Dick's hatband. No bond. The list of charges against him is longer than my arm—everything from attempted murder to a wad of federal offenses that would choke a horse. We can dismiss that pair of government gumshoes outside, and you can go home."
Anne gave a sigh of relief and smiled. "It's over."
"Everything but the formality of the trial." He slapped his hands together. "Damnation, it feels good to be useful again! I'm going to go call Vicki. She's going to be sorry she went home last week and missed the big moment."
He strode to his bedroom and closed the door. Her first impulse was to call Spider. She stilled her hand before it could pick up the receiver. Time. She needed time.
While Harmon and a team of auditors started through Preston's papers trying to get things straightened out, Anne rattled around in her big house on the hill. Her footsteps echoed down empty hallways, and there was no one to talk to except servants, who were busy with their work and at a loss as to what to say to their employer. She wandered from one room to the next, picking up an item here and there and replacing it in its precise spot. The rooms where she'd spent her entire life seemed cold and too well ordered. They had no personality.
Walking over the grounds where she'd played as a child, she discovered that the familiar was suddenly alien and lonely. She sat on the stone bench and stared at the rosebushes, freshly pruned and mulched. The first signs of spring growth colored the thorny canes, and, before long, fragrant blossoms would appear. But there was no one to enjoy them except the gardener and her.
She missed Spider and her new friends and the excitement she'd found in Houston. Dear Lord, she was bored, and she'd only been home for an afternoon.
In her pristine bedroom, she dressed in an Ungaro gown and went to the club for dinner. Most of the people there hadn't even realized she'd been away, but several women complimented her dress. She knew that everyone in the room was dying to know the juicy details of Preston's perfidy but were too polite to inquire directly.
A few supposed friends of long standing, whose help she had solicited the night she'd escaped from Preston, made sheepish comments about being shocked at the news of his duplicity. She tried to smile and say the right things. Those she spoke with seemed strangely superficial and synthetic, the type who gussied up and went to disease balls. Oddly, she'd never noticed before. They were bland when compared to Spider.
Even the food, expertly prepared by a French chef, was tasteless. She suddenly craved barbecued ribs and beer. And a man who wore a gold-filled spider in his ear. Excusing herself from the acquaintances she'd joined for dinner, she went home. She doubted if they'd miss her.
After a restless night, she drove to her gallery in Washington.
Walking into the chic establishment off Dupont Circle, she spied Meg, the woman she'd called a friend, showing a Victorian watercolor to a blue-haired matron with a Pekingese under her arm. The woman and her beribboned dog looked remarkably similar—haughty and pampered with a pug nose and a serious underbite.
Meg, who managed the gallery for Anne, was dressed in a black Adolfo with a triple strand of pearls and her dark hair tied back with a big velvet bow. When she spotted Anne, dressed in jeans, a casual blue sweater, and Reeboks, Meg looked her up and down, then dismissed her as she turned back to the matron with a fawning
smile.
Anger boiled up inside her. Her fingers itched to yank that big black bow from Meg's perfectly coiffed hair and stomp on it. She had the greatest urge to march over to her fair-weather friend and slap her silly.
Instead, she balled her fingers into fists and said sharply, "Meg, I need to speak with you. Now."
Meg wheeled around, her eyes wide. "Anne?"
"Yes."
Meg turned the customer over to her assistant, Jacob, and hurried over. "Oh, Anne, thank Heaven you're here. Reporters have been calling all morning. What have you done to yourself? I didn't recognize you. Are you all right? Howard and I were stunned when we read the Post this morning. It's unbelievable." Only a slight tremor at the upper corner of her red lips betrayed any emotion. "I hope you're not upset with Howard and me. That night you came to the house, we didn't know what to do, and, after all, Preston was Howard's employer. I'm sure you can understand his awkward position."
As Meg chattered on, Anne looked at her with new eyes. This shallow woman had never been her friend. Even now her only concern was a selfish one.
"Royal Fox was Howard's employer, Meg. The operative word is
was.
And
I
own Royal Fox Hotels, n
o
t Preston."
Meg went pale. "Why, Anne dear, what do you mean?"
"I mean that your husband is, to quote a dear friend of mine, a slimeball, and I'm kicking him
out.”
Blood-red lips parted in a feral snarl. "Why, you little twit! I wish Preston
had
found you."
Anne raised an eyebrow. "You're fired, too, Meg. I've overpaid you too long. Get your things and get out. Now."
As Meg flounced away in a huff, Anne heard a snort from behind her. Turning, she saw Jacob trying to wipe the smile from his face. The lady with the Pekingese was gone, and obviously Jacob had heard most of their conversation.
"How do you feel about my firing Meg, Jacob?"
A tiny smile crept back. "It couldn't have happened to a more deserving person."
"It occurs to me that you probably do most of the real work around here. Do you think you can manage the gallery?"
The smile spread to a grin. "Hell, yes—I mean— certainly, Miss Jennings."
She returned his grin. " 'Hell, yes' will do nicely. In fact, I don't have any use for it where I'm going. I think I'm going to give it to you."
His eyes grew big as silver dollars.
"Give
it to me?"
'"Yep. The gallery is yours."
As she turned and strode to the door, he called after her, "Miss Jennings, where are you going?"
She laughed. "Why, sugar, I'm going to Texas."
It was almost nine o'clock when she drove into the strip center and parked in front of the red neon sign. She left her bags in the car she'd rented at the airport and walked to the door. Her finger trembled as she pushed the button.
When she heard the click of the lock, she went
i
n. She was nervous. Very nervous. What if Spider had changed his mind? She should have called.
"Step into my parlor, sweet thing. Let ol' Spider help you out."
Anne smiled at the myna's greeting, then started picking her way around the merchandise. Very little had changed. Even the smells were the same as she'd remembered.
"Hot damn!" a deep voice shouted over the crowd roaring on TV.
"Hot damn," Turk agreed.
She chuckled as she circled the wooden Indian and the drum set, heading for the back of the shop. She froze in her tracks when she saw him.
He was leaning against one of the glass cases. Arms crossed and fingers tucked under his armpits, his face was shadowed with several days' growth of black beard. He wore black boots, black
jeans, a black T-shirt, and a little gold spider in his left ear.
His eyes were narrowed under the thick slash of black eyebrows and his sensuously curving mouth was solemn, but she could feel those blue eyes slither over her. She could feel the desire emanating from them low within her. It stole her breath and hardened her nipples. It made her legs go weak and her heart pound.
She licked her lips. He licked his.
"Spider ..." Her voice was barely a whisper.
One corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a sensual smile. "You need a little cash tonight, sugar?"
He walked toward her, and the scent of him filled her nostrils. Citrus and sandalwood and virile male. They stood inches apart, not touching but searching one another's eyes.
"How much will you give me for my watch?"
He smiled and lifted one finger to rub along the curve of her cheek. "Everything I've got, darlin'. Everything I've got."
"A funny thing happened to me while I was away. I discovered that my old life was very boring. And very lonely."
"I know the feeling, sugar." His finger trailed along the edge of her jaw to her chin.
"Preston is in jail."
"I read about it."
"Oh, Spider, I love you. Do you still want—"
His arms went around her and his mouth covered hers with a heart-stopping kiss. The ferocity of his lips and tongue and the snarl reverberating
deep In his throat told her everything she wanted to know. Knees weak, she clung to him as he kissed her, as he nipped and nuzzled her neck.
"Oh, darlin', I was scared to death you weren't coming back. I love you. And I
’v
e missed you so much." he murmured as he continued to hold her close to him.
"Spider, I don't want my money to come between us. I
’
ll give it all to charity if it bothers you."
He pulled back and looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "That's the craziest damned thing I've ever heard. Darlin', I've told you a dozen times, I don't give a hoot if you have more money than Donald Trump. If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me."
"Are you sure? I've got a hell of a bundle."
He threw back his head and laughed. "I love you, sugar. Money, warts, and all."
She pursed her lips. "I don't have any warts."
He laughed and kissed her again. "I've got a couple. Are you willing to marry me?"
"On one condition. Will you please back off a little and stop being so overprotective? Will you ask me before you charge in and make my decisions for me?"
"I promise I'll do my very best. And if I forget, you have my permission to remind me with a baseball bat."
She smiled. "Then, yes,
I’ll
marry you."
"Hot damn!" He picked her up and strode down the hall toward his bedroom.
"What are you doing?" she squealed as he dragged her sweater over her head.
He unzipped her jeans. "I'm about to make love to you all night and into next week."
Her eyes narrowed and her fists went to her hips.
His hands stilled and he cleared his throat. "If that's okay with you, sugar."
She studied the ceiling a moment, then grinned. "It is. I've been dreaming about red satin sheets."
As Spider drove the Silverado home, Anne sat snuggled next to him. "I think the rodeo this year was even better than last year's," she said, stifling a yawn. "Don't you?"
"Ummm," he replied. "Are you sure you didn't get too tired?"
"Positive. Don't fuss so." She patted his thigh. "And this year
I
bought the championship barrow. They said it was the highest price ever paid."
He laughed. "Sugar, for the last five raises, nobody was bidding against you but me."
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought you were getting a kick out of it.
Besides, you need the tax deduction."
After he'd wheeled the black pickup into the driveway of the suburban house, Anne poked the button of a remote-control unit and the double doors of the garage went up. He pulled in beside a
blue Mercedes and helped her out of the cab. Arm In arm, they walked through the house, a sprawling ranch style with a swimming pool, and into the den. The LeRoy Neiman football painting hung on one wall and the wooden Indian stood by the fireplace.
"You know." she said, looking around the comfortably furnished room, with its high-beamed ceiling and oversize furniture, "sometimes I miss living at the Pawn Parlor."
Spider laughed and rubbed her big tummy. "We couldn't bring up Scooter here in a pawnshop."
She laid her hand over his. "I feel like such a blimp. How can you still love me when I'm so fat?"
He kissed her nose. "Darlin', I'd love you if you weighed six hundred pounds and had green hair."
"My money really hasn't been a problem, has it?"
"Nah," he said. "I told you it wouldn't bother me. How many husbands have a wife who'd give them a football team for Christmas?"
She laughed. "Harmon nearly croaked. He's taking his job of managing my affairs very seriously. And he loves living near Washington again. Vicki says he seems ten years younger."
They walked to the large master bedroom, which sported high ceilings and another fireplace. Amid the tastefully appointed furnishings sat a king-size brass bed with red satin sheets and a fake-fur spread. He sat on the side of it and drew her
i
nto his lap, holding her close and rubbing her belly.
"
I’ll
be glad when Junior has his birthday. I've got a terrible hankering for his mama."
She pressed his head against her breast, ran her fingers through his thick hair, and caressed his cheek. She touched the familiar spider earring, an eighteen-karat gold one, and kissed his forehead. "I've got a terrible hankering for his papa, too. Does it bother you very much?"
"Nah,
I’ll
live. You want a glass of milk or something, sugar?"
She shook her head, then stiffened in his arms.
"What's the matter, darlin?"
"I'm not sure, but I think I just had a labor pain."
"Omigod!" Spider sprang to his feet with Anne in his arms and started running through the house.
"Spider Webb! What are you
doing?"
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
She laughed. "Put me down, you idiot. I'm not even sure it was a labor pain. And if it was, it will be hours yet. I have to pack my bag and call the
doctor.”
He ran back into their bedroom and laid her down on the fur spread. "Don't move.
I’ll
pack your bag. Where is it?"
"In my closet. I'll get it."
His wild blue eyes narrowed to thin slits beneath his black slashing brows, and he held up his hand in a signal to stop. "Don't you move a foot off that bed. I
’
ll handle this."
She smiled as he strode around the room, dragging things out of drawers and cramming them
into her suitcase. He was still overprotective—he would probably always be—but her heart was filled almost to bursting with love for him.
With his father assisting and muttering obscenities at the doctor every time his mother had a labor pain, William Andrew Webb, Jr. was born in Cypress Creek Hospital at 6:43
am
. Twenty-two and a half inches long, he weighed eight pounds and four ounces, had blue eyes, a full head of black hair, and a wicked smile that the doctor declared was only a gas bubble. The nurses said he had the strongest lungs and the biggest hands and feet of any baby in the nursery.